The Game of Death
by Rhodanum
Summary: In a world torn by war, an embittered Waterbender Healer's mercy for a man who has allowed himsef to fall into madness will become the herald of change. Can two old enemies find any common redemption, in a world filled with hatred? [Zutara, Zujin]


**_Author's Note: _**This story took shape gradually, growing from merely a vague, sketchy idea, to a full-blown novel-type piece. It desperately begged to be written and I couldn't ignore it any longer, since it also contained two of my favored pairings: _Zutara_ and _Zujin._

Why did I start to write it? Mainly because the idea was a very unusual one and I thought it would be worth sharing with others. Too many stories seem to rely on clichéd, overused plots, and so a little bit of originality could never hurt – especially in the _Zutara_ department.

_**Genre: **AU/Dark Drama/Romance_, with some elements of _Psychological Thriller_ and _Horror._

**_Rating: _**T (PG-13) – borderline M (R). Rating may change with future chapters.

**_Timeline: _**A large part of the story (the main body) takes place a decade after the Day of the Black Sun and the Fall of the Fire Nation, while several segments are placed within this period of time.

**_Pairings:_ **(in alphabetical order) - _Kataang; Sukka; Zujin; Zutara_ (to those who may find it extremely strange to fond a story with both _Kataang_ and _Zutara_ in it, don't worry, they're **_not _**at the same time, thank the Spirits! Nothing gives me bigger migraines than love triangles!)

**_Summary: _**In a darkened, war-torn world, where hope has become a precious and scarce commodity, the mercy of an embittered Waterbender Healer towards a man who has allowed his mind to slip into madness, will ultimately become the herald of change. Can two people, separated by culture, beliefs, ways of thinking, their own personal pain and troubled pasts, find any measure of redemption together, in a twisted, cruel world, where mercy to one's old enemy is considered to be a capital sin?

**_Warning: _**To those who prefer their romances both very sweet and fluffy or in a Disney/fairy-tale style, this story will not be the ideal pick, as it deals mainly with raw, gritty, human emotion. Like most stories I'm working on, it turned out very dark and intense in some parts, with few and far-between moments of light-heartedness. It also contains many scenes with a high level of violence (both physical and psychological) and some sexual situations – though nothing that would go against the _TOS._ All in all, I recommend it to those above the age of fourteen - depending on your own personal tolerance level.

* * *

_**The Game of Death**_

**Chapter I – Cold Hours of Midnight**

* * *

_That man can destroy life is just as miraculous a feat as that he can create it, for life is the miracle, the inexplicable. In the act of destruction, man sets himself above life; he transcends himself as a creature. Thus, the ultimate choice for a man, inasmuch as he is driven to transcend himself, is to create or to destroy, to love or to hate._

**- Erich Fromm**

* * *

The air was almost frozen and her every exhale released a small cloud of swirling, warm vapor into the frigid atmosphere. The wind had picked up in the last few hours and was currently whipping mercilessly at her dull gray robe, causing it to billow and twist in the breeze. The chilly wind only made the night seem even more bitterly cold, as it practically tore the heat away from her body, but she was long used to such extreme weather. 

After all, she wouldn't be much of a Water Tribe woman if she couldn't withstand the biting frost of winter.

Pulling the drab robe more closely around her frame, Katara frowned, blue eyes almost burning silver in the darkness of night, as she watched the storm clouds which churned across the midnight sky. While a childhood in the frozen wastelands of the South Pole had acclimatized her to weather extremes, she was still surprised to find such low temperatures so close to the tropical regions of the world. Stepping closer to the stone railing, she cast her eyes over the mass of towers, walkways, minarets, pavilions and terraced gardens which stretched out in front of her, until everything seemed to vanish in a sea of dark mists. It was not hard for her to remember how beautiful this place was during spring and summer, with its green, blooming gardens, deep pools of cool, crisp water, shaded paths and suspended bridges, all animated by a smiling, almost carefree crowd of people.

Now, however, caught in the cruel hold of winter, the beautiful Temple seemed to lose its entire charm and beauty, more closely resembling what it truly was – a ghost-filled ruin. The woman shivered involuntarily at this thought, remembering the low moans and cries of anguish that could sometimes be heard on cold and lonely nights such as this. While many of Shangri-La Temple's residents were quite happy to dismiss any bizarre noise as merely the harsh, mountain winds, squeezing their way through the cracks in the crumbling stonework, she knew for a fact that some of the more unnatural sounds were caused by the ghosts of the poor souls which had been murdered within the Temple's halls, more than a century earlier. With bitter clarity, she remembered what Aang had told her, upon returning from his very last – and most harrowing - journey into the Spirit World: a Spirit which had suffered a particularly traumatic or painful death was often completely lost, trapped somewhere between the Mortal and Spirit Realm, unable to ascend to the greater plains, in hope of being reborn and living again someday.

Flinching slightly, she focused upon the empty, barren gardens, willing herself not to dwell on the dead for too long. Over the last decade, death had become a daily occurrence in her life – almost a mockery of an intimate friend, of sorts – so it was quite understandable that she would wish to keep it out of her thoughts for as long as possible.

However, being one of the best Waterbender Healers in the world, during a time of war and turmoil meant that she had little respite from it. Between easing the passing of soldiers who had been nearly torn to shreds by their supposedly fellow _humans_ and saving the lives of those who could still be helped, there was little time left for the Senior Healer to focus and balance herself.

This was one of the many reasons why she was still awake during the late hours of night, sitting near the stone railing and watching the former Air Temple's grounds stretching out before her.

Shivering as another gust of bitterly cold wind billowed over her, Katara tightened the sash of her robe, her frown darkening. Such weather was most definitely _not_ normal. Casting her eyes to the north-east, where the island archipelago of the former Fire Nation lay, she felt her spine growing rigid with cold anger. Just like the poor, tormented Spirits of the many dead that the on-going war had ensured, the slow, steady changing of the world was being thoroughly ignored by those who should have been doing something. The natural balance had been almost irrevocably upset by the massacres and genocides which had marked the last century and - exactly when things were growing even more alarming – those selfish _fools_ were still fighting their petty revenge war, instead of putting down their weapons for good and making sure that the world did not fall to pieces right under their feet!

Taking in a deep, cleansing breath of cold air and releasing it back out in a slow exhale, in order to calm and center herself, Katara focused her attention upon the gentle sounds of the water flowing through the stone aqueducts which stretched across the entire Temple, supplying the ponds, artificial waterfalls and basins with fresh spring-water. That steady sound had almost become her anchor, giving her strength during the days when she almost wished she could just drop dead and be finally free from all of the unnecessary blood-shed and heartache. Fortunately, the years of harsh living had tempered her, like a piece of frozen steel, taken out of a cold forge. As usual, Toph had found exactly the few simple, precise words, which could aptly describe both Katara's current life and the general state of the world_: When the going gets tough, the tough get going._

Smiling slightly – a sight which had become scarcer which each passing year – Katara added Toph's name to the ever-growing list of people whom she never whished to be forced to send into the makeshift morgue which occupied the subterranean levels of the Temple. It was already bad enough that she had to crush the hopes of many young people – some barely out of their childhoods – on a daily basis. Adding another friend's face to the expanding death-toll was almost an unbearable concept. Especially since she had gone through it already, five years earlier.

"Mmm . . . excuse me, Lady Katara?"

Throwing a last, fleeting glance to the dark, forebodingly deserted Temple grounds, Katara half-turned towards the source of the voice, studying the short, rather squat-looking young man, decked to the nines in full, green and golden Earth Kingdom soldier's armor, proudly wearing the stylized symbol of his land on the front of his chest-plate.

"Yes, Juntaro?" she enquired, her voice firm and steady, not betraying any hint of the anger or turmoil that she may have felt earlier towards the foolishness of his nation. While she had a particularly large bone to pick with many an Earth Kingdom official, she had never aimed her ire towards the low-ranking soldiers or common people. They weren't the ones calling the shots in this overblown turf war - and seeing in which direction things were currently flowing, she rightly guessed that they would not be able to make their voices heard anytime soon.

"Captain Bato and his men have all assembled in the Upper-Eastern Hall. They asked me to tell you that all preparations for the journey have been made."

"Including food, water and all necessary medical supplies? If what you keep telling us is actually true, Juntaro, we'll be heading into a very dangerous situation and I do not want to put anyone's life in unnecessary risk, just because some absent-minded warrior forgot the antiseptic canisters."

"You'll have to talk with Captain Bato about that" the boy mumbled, his cheeks coloring up in what appeared to be embarrassment. "He already considers me enough of a nuisance. If I start asking too many questions, he might decide to leave me behind."

"I make the final decision when it comes to the people who come and those who stay behind" Katara reassured the skittish sixteen year-old boy, giving him a small smile as the two made their way across the stone courtyard. "You don't need to worry about Bato; he's not as fierce as he looks. War has taken his toll upon him as well."

At this, the woman fell silent, walking at a brisk pace ahead of Juntaro. The boy wondered why she had stopped speaking so abruptly, but immediately guessed that the battlefield held no fond memories for her as well, just like the scarred Water Tribe Captain.

The pair walked through one of the many winding hallways which stretched out like a maze into the Air Temple's innards. When he had first arrived in Shangri-La Temple, more than a month earlier, Juntaro had been utterly fascinated by the ornate stone walls, decorated with all sorts of carved images, mostly representing various scenes of Airbender spirituality. However, over time, the novelty of it all had slowly dissipated, until not even the grand marble statues of ancient monks impressed him anymore.

Besides, there were many other things in the halls, which distracted his attention – such as the large number of wounded men lying on spread sheets upon the cold floor, crammed together in the tight, winding corridors. Lately, the Temple had been nearly overrun, as new shipments of wounded were brought in on a nearly daily basis – which only served to further disrupt the hectic lives of its residents. The hospital wings had filled long ago, which meant that the overflow of wounded had to be placed in any other free and sheltered place.

Whispering at each other, harried-looking young women and men, clad from head to toe in gray robes, ran between patients, quickly tending to one's needs, before swiftly moving on to another. It was an infernal, consuming pace of work, which left the young soldier feeling only pity for the over-worked Healers. However, his compassion for the hundreds of wounded which lined the halls was even greater. All around him, he saw only prostrate bodies, lying on blood-stained sheets, their eyes glassy and unfocused due to the pain. Soft moans and whimpers could be heard coming from every direction and the air was thick with the tangy smells of herb mixtures, alcohol used as a disinfectant and human waste.

The un-breathable air almost caused the boy to retch, but Katara appeared to be wholly unaffected by the stench and the sad spectacle strewn all around, as she stepped lightly between the prone bodies of several Earth Kingdom soldiers, which appeared to be laying in a comatose state. Silently wondering how many scenes such as these the woman had witnessed during her life so far, Juntaro followed her, with equal care. As they passed, the Healers stopped a moment to greet Katara and offer her a small bow, which she returned with a nod of the head or a whisper word of encouragement.

"Senior Healer! Senior Healer Katara!"

In the relatively hushed atmosphere of the crowded hall, the young woman's voice had sounded jarring and coarse, as she waved desperately towards Katara.

"What is it, Ummi?" the woman asked quietly, as she approached the pale-faced, tired Healer.

"I don't know what to do for him anymore, Senior Healer" the girl answered, gently placing her hand on the shoulder of an Earth Kingdom solder, lying slumped over against a wall, his entire uniform spattered with dried blood. Looking at him, Juntaro gasped, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, as he saw that both the poor man's legs had been severed just above the knees, ending into linen-wrapped, blood-covered stumps. Katara studied him carefully for a few moments, looking at his ashen face and touching his cold forehead.

"Nothing more can be done" she answered, her voice flat and seemingly devoid of feeling, even as her fingers gently closed his eyes and checked his weak pulse. "Let him pass on."

"But, Senior Healer . . .!"

"Don't insist, Apprentice" she sternly rebuked the young girl, getting up and silently motioning for Juntaro to follow. "You're only prolonging his pain. Let him go."

"Yes, Senior Healer" the girl whispered, with a small bow, as Katara and her charge walked onward. Juntaro looked back, giving the frazzled girl a sad, sympathetic look, before speeding up his pace, when he saw the Waterbender's gray robe nearly disappearing into the corridor's darkness. The two walked in silence for a while, climbing up a long flight of marble stairs, until they finally reached a set of sturdy, ornately carved wooden doors, which led into the Upper Eastern Hall. Feeling a little relieved to have left the wounded and dying behind him, Juntaro unwisely chose to joke about the situation.

"Looks like we're here, Lady Katara. Perhaps we should name this place the War Room, with how many warriors are crowded in there –"

He immediately swallowed any words that he may have thought of uttering, as the Waterbender woman fixed her cold, hard eyes on him, causing the boy to involuntarily shiver.

"'_War' _is a word that I will not permit being used in this Temple. Have you already forgotten my rules, soldier?"

"N-no, Milady" the teenager stammered, feeling oddly stripped and vulnerable under the scrutiny of those silver eyes. The fact that she had addressed him as any other grunt warrior and not by his name meant that he had greatly displeased her and he mentally kicked himself several times for having forgotten the basic rules. No aspect of the war which was currently tearing across the world needed to reach Shangri-La Temple – aside from the wounded soldiers and the desperate refugees who sought shelter from the spreading tempest.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come in."

Flinching slightly, Juntaro saw that Katara had already strode past him, opened the doors, greeted the rows of Water Tribe warriors and taken a seat at the long, stone table which occupied the center of the long Hall. Feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks again and wishing that the ground would split up and swallow him whole, armor and all, the boy walked inside and took a seat as well, after bowing to the tall Captain.

Bato returned the gesture, giving the young solder a tired look, that clearly spoke the fact that he was only allowing him to attend the meeting in the first place because Katara had insisted. At his signal, the other Warriors sat down as well.

"Is everything prepared for the departure, Bato?" Katara asked the seasoned warrior, even as her eyes skimmed over a list of necessities, scribbled hastily on a folded scroll.

"Nearly so" he answered, all of his usual good humor replaced by a serious demeanor, as he folded his arms over his chest. "I still want to know exactly what we're getting ourselves into. I'm not going to risk running into a pack of mad Spirits, solely on this boy's word."

At this comment, Juntaro's face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, but this time, it was due to anger and not shame, which prompted some of the warriors to quietly chuckle and whisper several unflattering comments under their breaths.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself?" the teenager asked, exasperatedly. "All those people weren't killed either by ghosts or Spirits, but by a man, a Firebender! There's nothing supernatural about Hennan forest and I should know – I saw it with my own eyes!"

"Perhaps you had overdosed on the sake" a warrior chuckled, earning myself a glare from narrowed green eyes.

"My entire patrol was completely decimated" Juntaro answered in a whisper, his frown deepening. "Do you think I would joke about such a thing?"

This – along with a stern look from Bato - got all of the chortling warriors to fall into a vaguely embarrassed and surprised silence.

"So, you're our only survivor and witness" Bato nodded, with a small, thoroughly unamused smile, which twisted the deep cut scar that ran across his forehead, a memento from one of his many battles. "Why did he spare you, exactly?"

He . . . he's my Uncle" the boy answered to several amazed, stunned or completely skeptical reactions. Everyone started whispering furiously amongst themselves, but a heavy silence fell when Juntaro continued. "Not by blood – his wife was my Father's younger sister. When I was little, I used to spend all my summers on their farm, north-west of Ba-Sing-Se. Uncle Lee was . . . a good man. A bit distant and harsh sometimes, but he cared very much both for me and my Aunt. He taught me how to use a dagger without stabbing myself and always told me never to give up without a fight."

"What happened to him?" Bato asked, as both he and the others were eagerly listening to young man, hanging off his words. From her seat, Katara was studying several scrolls and it was clear that Juntaro had already told her these things.

"I don't know" the boy whispered, nervously fiddling with his fingers and staring at the stone-carved tabletop. "When I was eleven, I found out that their entire village had been burned to the ground. I was desperate, thinking that everyone had died in the fire, but several people spoke of a large group of men, women and children headed toward the north, loaded with supplies and other essentials. It turned out that they had left _before_ the fire – thought _why _they did such a thing is a complete mystery to me. Several army patrols followed the group – probably to turn them back – and then . . ."

Here, Juntaro faltered and a look of haunted pain passed over his young features as he swallowed, desperate to find his words again.

"They arrived at the Hennan forest" Katara finished for him, having abandoned the expansive scrolls as a lost cause and focusing her attention upon the boy. "Right?"

"Yes, Milady" he murmured, eyes still focused downward, firmly refusing to meet anyone's gaze. "From what I've heard – and all of this is only second-hand information and some guesswork – the villagers entered the forest, seeking refuge and the army patrols followed them. None of them walked out again."

A collective shudder nearly passed through the entire group – while they had all heard of (and seen) particularly horrible incidents of war, few dealt with the strange death of nearly two hundred people, all gone seemingly without a trace, as if they had been wiped clean off the face of the earth. A warrior scowled, before his expression turned thoughtful.

"I heard something about that. Five years ago, some people living in the Sheng-Ze province said they had seen strange things happening in the forest, on the night of Midsummer's Eve – explosions, flashes of light and arches of white-hot flames across the sky."

"And shortly after that" Bato continued, his expression grim, "the forest starts getting its dark reputation for being haunted, filled with ghosts and a death-trap for any soldier foolish enough to go inside. Coincidence? I don't think so."

The others nodded their heads firmly at Bato's observation. While they had never seen it with their own eyes, many had heard the horror stories that were being told about the Hennan woods – the place was noted for being extremely dangerous, as many convoys which tried to pass through it were attacked and pillaged. However, while merchants and other travelers had a good chance of getting out in one piece, if they were careful, the same could not be said of soldiers.

If a person walked into the forest, dressed in the green and gold garb of the Earth Kingdom military, he was guaranteed an excruciatingly painful death. It was not uncommon for civil militia patrols to come across piles for charred, unrecognizable bodies belonging to unfortunate men. Whatever malevolent presence haunted the forest, it had a particularly vicious kind of hatred for the Earth Kingdom army.

So far there had only been one sole survivor of the ordeal – and he was currently sitting alongside the Water Tribe warriors, looking flustered and completely out of his element, as if he wished that he could be anywhere else other than in the current place and situation.

"He showed you mercy because you are his kin?" an older man, with a graying moustache enquired, to which Juntaro nodded subtly, but remained silent.

At this, Bato sighed deeply, resting his palms on the table and wishing that he had more knowledge on what they would all be facing. From the boy's brief description, it appeared that they were dealing with a surviving Firebender which – if the mounting death-toll could be trusted – seemed to be very powerful. Unknown adversary, unknown terrain . . . most definitely _not_ the ideal situation. Just when he was about to voice his protests and explain that they should not get involved in the first place, leaving the Earth Kingdom to clean up its own messes, Katara spoke up from her prolonged silence, voice calm but firm at the same time.

"We will have to step in. As much as I don't want to get involved in the Earth Kingdom's politics, this situation cannot be allowed to continue. Far too many have been killed needlessly and more will share the same fate if we stand idle."

"Surely a large enough military force from Ba-Sing-Se can take care of the problem . . ."

"Perhaps" she agreed, but her flinty gaze spoke otherwise. "However, if Juntaro here speaks the truth and this man is a Firebender, the _last_ thing I will do is let him fall into the hands of the Earth Guards and be executed on the spot. The boy wouldn't have asked for our aid if the situation had been different."

Bato wanted to argue a little bit more, to prove that the whole thing was nothing short of a tactical nightmare, but the unflinching determination etched on the woman's dark features made him give it up right from the start. He knew full-well that he had no chance of triumphing against Katara's trademark stubbornness and, secretly, he was pleased to see a small spark of the seemingly long-dead idealism burning behind the frost shield with which the young woman had wrapped herself over the years.

"Very well" he said, with a small bow of acceptance. "My men are at your disposal."

"Thank you, Bato" she answered, her features softening somewhat, as she gently patted his large, calloused hand. Turning toward Juntaro, she looked straight at the boy, making him squirm in his seat.

"I want you to tell them everything you saw and did in that forest. Tell them just like you told men and don't leave anything out. If you want us to try and help this Uncle of yours, you'll have to help us as well."

For a few seconds, the teenager appeared completely stunned, as if he had been expecting nothing more than a quick refusal for the past month, before he dared to smile shyly and to speak on a quiet tone, everyone having to lean forward in their seats in order to hear him clearly.


End file.
